Category Archives: The Bridge

You Need Some Hemp (to Go with That Tie-Dye)

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When I sold regularly at the Bridge, I often saw people wearing tie-dyed t-shirts. One of my marketing ploys was to yell out as these people walked by, You need some hemp to go with your tie-dye. Often the person wearing the tie-dyed shirt ignored me or laughed and kept walking. But sometimes the person in the tie-dye actually came over to my table and looked at my merchandise, and sometimes the looker turned into a buyer.

One Labor Day weekend, I saw a young man across the street walking toward the Bridge. He was wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt, so I hollered, You need some hemp to go with your tie-dye. He hollered back that he didn’t have any money. On a whim, I told him that if he came back, I’d give him something.

He probably didn’t believe I was actually going to give him something, but he and his friends did stop at my table after walking out on the Bridge. There were four of them, young people in their mid-20s. They worked for AmeriCorps or some other service organization and had decided on a whim to go camping on Labor Day Weekend. Once they’d gotten out in the wilderness, they’d realized they’d forgotten both the food and the drinking water. However, someone had packed booze, so they’d basically spent the last couple of days drinking tequila. Now they were on their way to town where they would go to a restaurant so they could finally eat.

They didn’t sound drunk, and they certainly weren’t obnoxious. They seemed to be really sweet young people, and the story of their weekend amused me. I ended up giving each of them a bracelet.

They couldn’t believe I was giving them something so nice for free. Usually when I gave away a bracelet or a shiny rock (to a little kid or because it was someone’s birthday or because I was feeling generous toward someone who didn’t have any money for a souvenir in the budget), I was met with disbelief. I guess it’s not often a business person gives away her or his wares to a stranger.

These young people loved my bracelets and each carefully chose his or her perfect one. Then they said they wanted to give me something. I said it wasn’t necessary for them to give me anything, but I did concede that I like trades.

One of the women gave me a pair of earrings made with little stones of snowflake obsidian. (To read about another experience of mine with snowflake obsidian, go here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2016/01/04/snowflake-obsidian-2/ .) I didn’t (and don’t) typically wear earrings, so later I passed them on to a lady vendor friend I suspected was involved in an abusive relationship. I hoped the snowflake obsidian could help her break patterns that were no longer useful to her.

Then the guy in the tie-dye said, And we wanted to give you this, and held out his clinched fist. I instinctively held out my hand—cupped palm up—to him. He opened his fist over my open hand and deposited a good size bud (of marijuana, for anyone who needs it spelled out).

I was surprised, but quickly closed my hand around the weed. I didn’t want to be showing off the fat bud in my hand  in front of God and everybody .

When people asked me if I smoked (marijuana or cigarettes), I always said no. I’ve never been a pothead and particularly don’t like coughing or feeling paranoid and stupid. As a homeless woman on my own, I needed to be alert all the time, so I wasn’t drinking alcohol or smoking poet or doing anything to make my brain sluggish. Also, because I was homeless, I knew I ran a greater risk of a cop hassling me and using my homelessness as an excuse to search me and my belongings. I didn’t need to be caught with anything illegal.

However, I had the bud in my hand. It seemed wrong to hand it back. I could tell these folks really wanted to meet my kindness with kindness of their own. So I smiled and thanked them and wished them a safe journey.

As soon as I saw them drive away, I walked over to a vendor friend who I knew smoked weed.

I have something for you, I said.

I held out my closed fist to him just as the young man had done to me. My friend held out his open palm to me. I put my hand over his and opened my fingers. You should have seen his smile when he saw that bud in his hand.

Bruja

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She showed up at the Bridge late one afternoon, after the heat had broken. There were just a few of us vendors still there, trying to make a few dollars more before night fell. Mateo was still there. So was Eddie.

The woman was not in the least interested in me. She was interested in Eddie, and she was very interested in Mateo. She talked directly to him, although Eddie and I listened too.

She said she was an artist. She said she made really large dream catchers. She said she’d be back to the Bridge in the morning to sell her wares. She also said she was a bruja.

I was new to Northern New Mexico, and I didn’t know this word “bruja.” After the woman left, I asked Mateo about it, and he said it meant “witch.” The woman had said she was a witch! Was she bragging or warning?

Before the woman left, she’d said Mateo and Eddie and I were her friends. She said she would set up near us the next day.

I’d recently learned aventurine is believed to protect a person’s heart chakra so his or her energy can’t be stolen. This woman, this bruja, seemed to want our energy, especially Mateo’s. (I don’t think energy is all she wanted from Mateo.) I had small beads of aventurine I’d recently been given by a bead angel (Read that story here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2016/01/02/bead-angel/.) I took three of the beads and put one each on bracelets for me, Eddie, and Mateo. We were still wearing our bracelets the next day.

By the time the bruja arrived at the Bridge late the next morning, there was no room for her to set up anywhere near me or Eddie or Mateo. Vendors were packed in close together, and there was no place for anyone else to squeeze in. She was trying to figure out how to get in next to us when the self-proclaimed “president of the Bridge” came along and told her she could set up and sell across the street in the parking lot that also served as a sort of overflow vending area.

As soon as she’d been whisked away, Eddie, Mateo and I were talking about her, telling other vendors about her, laughing about how weird she’d been. We were not being kind.

While I was away from my table, the wind picked up momentarily as it often does out there. The wind strengthened, just briefly, just long enough to flip a lovely rainbow obsidian stone off my table and into the dirt.

The piece of rainbow obsidian had come from the bead angel too. I’d been told the stone was valuable, and I should be able to get at least $20 for it.

But now it was in the dirt, which is not a good place for a piece of obsidian to be. Obsidian is volcanic glass, and we all know glass is fragile. It’s not good for obsidian to fly off a table and hit the ground.

When I picked up the piece of obsidian, I saw it had broken. I was very sad. Eddie and Mateo–both rock guys–were sad for me.

Do I think the bruja knew I was talking about her behind her back and sent a gust of wind to throw the beautiful stone off the table? No. Do I think the Universe knew I was being unkind and sent a wind to teach me a lesson? Maybe. Maybe I do believe that. Do I think I should have stayed at my own table and paid attention to my own business instead of saying unkind things about another person? Yes. I definitely believe that.

Mateo, Eddie, and I saw the bruja drive away early in the afternoon. The heat and the sun must have gotten to her. We saw she had the remains of a bag of ice balanced on her head as she drove. As far as I know, she never returned to sell at the Bridge.

Old White People Crossing

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It was a slow weekday at the Bridge. More accurately, it was another slow weekday at the Bridge. The few tourists milling around were not buying, and all of the vendors were bored.

Gregorio was wandering around, talking to vendors, generally just passing the time. He strolled not very far out onto the Bridge and came back chuckling.

This is what he’d seen:

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No one I know has any idea who made the stencil (as it should be with street art), but I think the artist(s) did a great job. I love the details of the people’s hats and their stooped posture. The cane is a nice touch too. I think as a whole, the piece is hilarious.

Happiness and Bighorn Sheep

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On the morning after the first suicide of the year, I walked out on the Bridge.

It was just after six o’clock in the morning. The air was cool enough for legwarmers under my long skirt and flannel over my tank top, and the sky was the fresh pink of daybreak.

I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I wanted to pray for the man who had jumped 18 hours before, but I feel silly when I pray because I don’t believe an old guy with a beard and a long robe sits in the sky listening to what I have to say. Maybe I wanted to meditate, but “contemplate” was probably closer to what was on my mind. I wanted to ask for rest for his soul. I wanted him to be at peace. I wanted my energy to touch his energy in a way we had missed in life, but thinking that made me feel too woo-woo and new age-y. I wanted some connection with the man, something I didn’t know how to express even to myself.

I wanted to give thanks for my own life too, to express gratitude that I haven’t succumbed to the darkness I sometimes feel near the Gorge, usually at night, when I’m alone in my van, wondering what I’ve really accomplished in my life, wondering why I do what I do day after day, wondering why I’m even walking the earth.

My new friend Zack was an angel to me two nights before, the night before the first suicide of the year. I was walking to the restroom to brush my teeth, and suddenly he was there, for no logical reason. I didn’t recognize him at first. The light was fading and he was skulking around looking for snipes. I walked into the restroom and heard footsteps following me. I was thinking oh shit when he spoke my name, and I realized I had met him and his lady the day before. We talked a bit, and just before we went our own ways, he said that happiness has to come from our hearts, that we have to decide to be happy.

Thank you for that, I said as I hugged him.

Maybe we fight the darkness by deciding to be happy. Deciding isn’t a magical antidote that guarantees everything will be happily ever after. Deciding won’t make all the negatives disappear. But deciding not to dwell, not to wallow, on the negatives seems like a step away from the darkness.

As I walked out on the Bridge, I let the beauty of the Gorge wash over me. I’m always surprised and delighted by that beauty, no matter how many times I see it. Seeing the Gorge never feels routine.

I felt a sense of peace slide over me as I walked. I hoped the man who jumped knew peace too.

As I neared the end of the Bridge, I looked across the street to the south and saw something my brain at first couldn’t understand. I could only make sense of what I saw by thinking someone had set out life-size, three dimensional target practice dummies that looked like rams in what had been a parking area before it was blocked off by the Department of Transportation. Then I realized the creatures looking up at me were moving, alive. Six bighorn sheep were right next to the road, watching me, wondering what I would do next.

I was afraid they would try to cross the road and one would get hit. I walked across the highway slowly and softly told the sheep they shouldn’t be so close to speeding cars. They moved back as I approached, but didn’t leave the empty lot. I perched on the barrier blocking vehicles from entering, and five of the sheep moved closer to the fence separating the empty lot from miles of the Pueblo’s sage. The one sheep that stayed in place kept eating from small patches of lush green grass that had shot up after the monsoon rains. Its mouth moved fast, as if film were being played at high speed. The sheep seemed to be goofing around, trying to make me laugh, but really, that’s just the way its mouth moved when it ate.

One by one, the other five sheep bounded gracefully over the low barbed wire fence and were back in the safety of the sage. Finally, the last one quit munching grass, walked to the fence, hesitated, then jumped across. I had barely breathed a sigh of relief when it hopped the fence again and moved back into the former parking lot to get more of the delicious grass. I continued to sit in silent awe, watching sheep on both sides of the fence, feeling blessed to witness their breakfast.

The sheep in the sage slowly made their way closer to the Gorge. The lone sheep in the parking lot seemed oblivious as the rest of the herd moved farther away. I could no longer see the other five sheep when number six decided it was time to get back to the group. It didn’t seem to want to jump the low fence, but looked for some other way to get to the other side. It approached the tall hurricane fence on the west side of the empty lot and trotted back and forth along it, getting visibly agitated and stamping its feet. It was cut off from its family and not sure how to join them.

I considered getting closer and trying to point the sheep in the right direction, but quickly realized the idea was ridiculous. This creature was not a Disney cutie or barnyard friend. This animal was wild, strong, and a least a little pissed. It might not realize I wanted to help, might instead feel cornered and attacked. While I wanted to have a magical, spiritual moment saving a wild beast, I was more likely to be kicked in the gut by a being living just fine before I can along. I stayed where I was.

The sheep walked over to the lower fence and hesitated, then sailed over into the sage. Go! Go! I silently cheered. There was another low barbed wire fence to clear before following the other sheep into Gorge, but a foot caught in the wire and the sheep crashed to the ground. I gasped, but there seemed to be no serious damage. The sheep was on its feet in moments, then disappeared under the Bridge and into the Gorge.

What connection do I make between these big horn sheep who travel in the Gorge and the man who gave up his life there the day before? I have just the vaguest idea, an idea I can barely grasp and can’t articulate. I feel like the answer is somehow connected to my understanding of my own state of grace.

Someone once told me that grace is a gift we don’t deserve, something given to us for no reason we can understand. I walked back to my van in a state of grace, blessed with a life I’m not sure I deserve, a life that on this day included a moment with bighorn sheep.

(The bulk of this post was written in late summer of 2013, edited in August 2015.)

Water and Electricity

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It was my first summer at the Bridge, long before the guy in the laundromat asked me if I went there often.

One hot day, a guy with a guitar showed up and sat down just beyond the sidewalk across the street from the vendors. The guy started playing his guitar and singing enthusiastically. He wasn’t very good, but I believe in supporting people who try. I asked my friend Mateo if he knew the guy; Mateo told me no.

The guy was playing what radio stations call “classic rock,” and I said I’d just about have to give him a dollar if he played something by the Grateful Dead. I didn’t have many dollars in those days, but I had even less music in my life, hardly ever the Grateful Dead.

On the way to the restroom, I stopped to talk to the guy.

Do you know anything by the Grateful Dead? I asked him.

He looked at me, and I thought oh, no because he had crazy eyes. I can’t explain what made them crazy. Maybe they didn’t focus right. They just didn’t look the way people’s eyes normally look. I knew he was not someone I could handle in my life at the moment.

He started talking really fast. He didn’t have any Grateful Dead songs in this book, but he thought he had one in his other book, it was in the car, he had a car, it was parked up at the rest area, if it started raining, he was going to put his guitar in the car because rain was the enemy of the guitar, he had water and electricity out at his place.

At that point he took a breath, and I said ok, see you later, and steered well clear of him when I came back down from the restroom.

That was the best pick up line anyone has ever used on me. Water and electricity. Ha! It didn’t work (even though I was homeless at the time and didn’t have water or electricity, much less a place), but it was a great line.

Is that how you guys pick up women in New Mexico? I asked Mateo. By offering water and electricity?

It turns out that Mateo did know who the guy was. He was the guy who’d come to the Bridge before to play guitar and sing badly, curse loudly at tourists, and stalk women. I knew those eyes were crazy.

Turtle Ass

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I acquired four or five turtle pendants in repayment of a loan. As soon as I put one on a hemp necklace, it would go out on my table and sell for $20. No turtle necklace sat on my table for more than three days.

One day the newest turtle necklace was sitting on my table. A man came up to the table. He was alone. No buddies. No lady friend. All by himself.

I gave him my hemp jewelry spiel. I told him all of the pieces were handmade from hemp, handmade by me. I told him all my pieces open and close completely. I told him the starting price of necklaces was $10.

He was interested in the turtle necklace. I told him the price was $20. He asked what I had for $10. I pointed to the $10 pieces. He didn’t like any of those. He said he’d give me $15 for the turtle necklace. I told him no. Usually I’ll take less for a piece, but I knew I could sell the turtle necklace for twenty bucks.

He said he’d take the turtle necklace for $20. WIN!

He wanted to wear the necklace right away, and asked me to fasten it around his neck. I did. I fasten a lot of necklaces around a lot of customers’ necks.

Before he left, he turned his back to me and said, Look at this! I looked over, and he had pulled the back waistband of his shorts down and over so I could see his turtle tattoo. The tattoo was on the upper part of his ass. I didn’t see any crack, but the man definitely showed me his ass.

I guess it was worth it to put $20 in my pocket.

This is not the turtle necklace I sold to the man who showed me his ass. The turtle is not even made of the same material as the one in the story. This turtle necklace is for illustration purposes only. It may or may not be available for purchase when you read this.

This is not the turtle necklace I sold to the man who showed me his ass. The turtle is not even made of the same material as the one in the story. This turtle necklace is for illustration purposes only. It may or may not be available for purchase when you read this.

Red Letter Day

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This encounter happened during the summer of 2014.

Today was a Red Letter Day for a gal who sells macraméd hemp products by the side of the road. In one day, I experienced a trifecta of the things people have said to me repeatedly over the course of three summers. (This is the first time they’ve been said to me all in one day.)

#1 Someone offered to sell me weed and seemed surprised when I said I don’t smoke it.

#2 An old man joked about smoking hemp to get high.

#3 A woman told me she used to do macrame and (bonus!) said she’d even made a macrame owl wall hanging.

To make the day even weirder, an older (at least 60 years old) man (who looked like a white guy to me) told me (as he was trying on one of my necklaces) that he used to be an Osage Indian. I was under the impression, once an Osage Indian, always an Osage Indian, so I asked him what he is now. He said his wife made him move to Dallas.

Then he said (slyly), My wife’s a cougar. Do you know what that is?

I said yes, while in my head I was thinking, if she likes younger men and she’s married to you, she must be 85 years old.

At that point, he told me he likes younger women. I wondered if he was hitting on me, but I kept that in my head too. To sell a $20 necklace, I’ll let some old guy married to a cougar hit on me. So he bought the necklace and seemed less weird. We chatted a few more minutes, then he walked on.

I saw the woman he met up with. She didn’t look 85 (or like a cougar, for that matter). She looked like your average uptight 65 year old Texas lady.

Was he fucking with me?

To learn more about hemp go here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/11/19/hemp-2/.

To read more about customers, go here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/12/09/selling-hemp-again/, here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/12/14/mean-daddy/, here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/11/12/hard-times-on-the-highway/, here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/09/26/turtle-ass/, and here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/03/17/how-much-are-these/

We Feel for Your Situation

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It’s been a hard week at the Bridge so far. On Monday (after my usual 8+ hour day), I made $7. Yesterday, I did not have my table properly anchored, and the wind blew the whole thing (rocks, cholla cactus display “tree,” cinder block “tree” stand) over. I left in frustration after making $20 selling rocks to a very nice French woman. Today, the winds were worse (but I anchored both tables with rocks, tied down the table clothes made from sheets so they did not turn into sails, moved the van to block the wind, tied the “tree” to my side mirror to stabilize it, spent the majority of the day standing nearby so I could grab the “tree” and my flowerpot bracelet display in the event of movement). By about 4:45, I had made $10, and the wind had been blowing hard nearly nonstop for almost nine hours.

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About that time a man and woman stopped at my table. The man was quite a bit younger than the woman, who was probably ten years older than I am. They looked at some of my jewelry and tried to  pick up a necklace with a pendant I made from a skull carved out of yak bone and amethyst beads. The necklace was pinned to the cloth wrapped around the trunk of the “tree” to it wouldn’t blow away. When I offered to unpin it, the woman said they would go look at the Gorge, than come back and shop. I thought that if they bought the necklace, I would go home. (Home being my friend J’s place, where I am house and cat sitting.)

They came back from the Bridge, and I unpinned the necklace.The woman held it up to the guy’s neck, and before I could grab my mirror so he could see how it looked, he decided he didn’t want it. They looked at some other things. We talked about the wind, how it had been blowing hard all day. They admired my work. The woman asked where I lived, and I said, In my van, because it seemed too difficult to explain my complicated living situation to them. (Well, right now I’m house sitting, and I do that as much as I can, and there’s a trailer on my sweetheart’s property that I stay in when I’m out there, but it’s 40 miles from here, so when I’m working, I sleep in my van at night…) The woman got a really startled look on her face and did not seem to be thinking (as many people do), Cool! You get to travel around and see the world. I told them I live simply and don’t need a lot of money.

They walked away from my table. I told my friends selling next to me that I’d thought I was going to make the sale, and it was a bummer those people hadn’t bought the necklace.

Not five minutes later, a car pulled up right in front of my table. When the window rolled down, I saw it was that man and woman I’d just been talking to. The man was driving, and he asked if I provided car side service. I said sure, and saw that he was holding a bill in his hand. He said he’d decided to take the necklace. I grabbed it for him and was going to say, Where else can you get smoked yak bone? Before I could make my little weak joke, he said, We feel for your situation. I think I said, Oh while handing him the necklace and taking the twenty dollar bill. He said, Not like it’s a tragedy…It’s paradise right? I think he realized how awkward what he said sounded to me. (I don’t know what my face looked like.)

I wonder which part of my situation they are feeling for. The situation of living in my van? The situation of being in relentless wind all day? The situation of living simply and not having lots of money? And what is it that they feel about my situation? Pity? Envy? Astonishment? I’ll never know, but I can guess.

 After that I packed up. I’m at J’s place now. The cat is fed. Rice is cooking and when it’s done, I’ll add beans and green chiles and cheese and have myself a dinner. It’s a good life, despite the wind, despite the fact that money is slow right now.

Today I traded a necklace for a pin with a Grateful Dead dancing acid bear on it. The guy I made the trade with is 24, on the road, trying to see every state in the U. S of A. The pin was special to him, but he liked the necklace made with green and black hemp and a serpentine pendant so much he made the trade and excitedly had me put the necklace on him, even though he doesn’t usually wear necklaces.

It’s a good life. I get to meet people from around the world and no boss, nobody tells me what I have to do. I make my own decisions. I decide to stand in the wind and look at the mountains.

To read about more customers, go here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/09/26/turtle-ass/, here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/02/10/red-letter-day-2/, here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/11/12/hard-times-on-the-highway/ here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/12/14/mean-daddy/, here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/03/17/how-much-are-these/, and here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/12/09/selling-hemp-again/